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October random walks! All my desires are born of my dreams. And I have proven my love with words. To what fantastic creatures have I entrusted myself, in what dolorous and ravishing world has my imagination enclosed me? I am sure of having been loved in the most mysterious of domains, my own. The language of my love does not belong to human language, my human body does not touch the flesh of my love. My amorous imagination has always been constant and high enough so that nothing could attempt to convince me of error. - Paul Éluard (via A Glinting Web) I just have a few questions. Am I the only one with out a squirrel story? Do you think it's unseemly that I have a mad crush on Eddie Vedder? I mean he's way younger. I think he's married. I don't really know him. It is one of those star crushes. Unseemly, I think. How did get to be October?
Much to my joy, I missed some of the debate. Kathryn was here and we were talking and talking. When the debates began we looked at each other and it took like three seconds before we decided to ignore them and continue our conversation. But soon after that we realized that it was getting late and she had miles to go to get home. So she left and I took the TV off mute. That was when I made the desperate plea for sedation.
Sonya sent a link to this interesting list of why these debates weren't a debate, which I had seen linked by Jessamyn but hadn't jumped to till Sonya pointed. When two women I admire point to the same place I jump to it.
Much is being made of how frustrated Bush looked during the whole thing. I think there was a moment when I vented to Kathryn about how I can't stand the petulant frat boy eye roll way he looks most of the time. Can not stand it.
I knew Amy would make me listen to lots of it this morning anyway. How can Bush say the troops have what they need when the troops are sending frantic letters home to ask for what they need from their families?
Kerry did well. I guess. So they say. I'm still tense. The other day I was having a conversation about soft suffering. The suffering in which no one is beating you. You have enough of what you need in terms of survival. But you are suffering.
For the record, I'm not suffering all that much. In fact, I have been feeling better in many ways. But as I move through the days and weeks and months and try to sort through what's happening and not happening in my life I look all the way in and all the way out. I look at the systems in which I live and I look at the past from which I came. I am a sorting sifting machine. Always trying to find perspective.
And for those of us that weren't and aren't in and weren't in terrible live circumstances there's this added layer of self recrimination. There must be something wrong with me.
Again. For the record. I'm not exactly talking about me. But I am. But I'm not.
It's just this thing I'm thinking about lately. About the nature of suffering and how it can stop you in your tracks. Leave you moaning. Curled up. Somewhere between numb and excruciating. The only thing you can do is struggle to find perspective and try to keep moving. But it can really slow you down.
And then there are these moments. Of undiluted bliss. Just as overwhelming. But infinitely more ... uh ... just ... infinitely more desirable. Ya know? A couple of those kind of moments and you feel like you can change the world.
A friend of mine wrote a good line in a song once. "Till you learn to ride in the middle of the wheel. Where you never get run over by the crazy things you feel."
Yeah. I'm just thinking. About stuff. Where have I been? Oh. I wish it weren't true. But. As much as it embarrasses me too say it. I've been in a Sims coma. Why should it embarrass me? Everyone knows I'm addicted. I've made my confession. But. This is worse. I got the Sims 2. I don't even want to think about the fiscal irresponsibility. I don't even want to think about things I should be doing that I haven't done. I don't even want to think about looking at the clock and seeing that it was 4:00 A.M. and I was still playing. I haven't been awake at 4:00 since ... oh. Gosh. I can't remember. But that's when I went to sleep. Although I wouldn't call it sleep. My ears were ringing. My eyes were strobeing. I sort of toss and turn thinking about things in the game.
I'm always trying to elevate the reasons why I love this game. There's lots of problem solving. And I like problem solving. This morning I was thinking about using my mighty Sims problem solving in my own life. But. Ya know. That's the thing. In my own life my problem solving skills haven't been working all that well.
I'd sorta shaken my Sims addiction. And then I got back into it a little bit. But not like this. This is like the days (I should say daze) (heh) when I first got the game. My desire to understand the game is overwhelming. I'm completely round the bend. All the cool (and many of the annoying) things about the first game are in this new version but there is so much more. SO much more! I mean, they grow up! It's just amazing. And they die. Which, I am embarrassed to say, I found fascinating.
While I play I am usually listening to very intelligent things. (Do I sound defensive?) (I am.) I listened to Angela Davis twice. She does teach at the MA/Ph.D. program that tempts me so. But really. A BA in humanities, a MFA in writing and a Ph.D in consciousness? Clearly my academic career is not about becoming employable. Still. I do like the idea of taking class with Angela. And I did listen to the debate. It was less repugnant than the first one but not by much. I'm not feeling the big win that I've heard mentioned.
I did manage to pull away from the computer last night. My friend Val was in town. I haven't seen her for so long. We went to Da Flora. My favorite. Ate. Talked. It was just too much fun. I love evenings like that. I had two coffees after dinner which may have been why I was awake at 4:00 AM. That and the ...ya know... game. And I was wound up from all the talk and catching up and needing to catch up more.
Sigh.
I noticed that I was full of apology last night. Apology about all kinds of little things. I'm not completely sure why. I have theories. And I really do have a loopy feeling of getting away with something. I mean. Jeez. I'm playing a computer game. Not looking for a job. Not writing. Not reading blogs. (I'm really sorry about that.) Not sending query letters to agents. It all feels wrong.
But.
Oh.
This game.
Sigh.
I need to take a shower and clean up and do ... almost anything. Other than play that game. But I hafta say. There's a family I really want to play with. Doesn't that sound so perverse?
Sigh. Your nescience never fails to impress me," Abigail cooed whenever Mr. Dumas offered yet another of his outrageously ill-informed opinions. He would then grin at what he assumed was her admiration. - Michael Gates Yeah. I've been playing. Again. All morning. What got me hooked was this new thing in which they have aspirations. Some of them want to have ten kids. I was wondering if it was possible. Four kids later I've decided it might not be. Not unless some of the kids are ignored.
I did check in and read comments. Thank you for reminding me that there are people. Real people. Many of whom I love. And adore.
Siona's comment was in the back of my mind while I played.
It
is true that I am soft suffering. I have food and shelter
and people who love me and a new computer game. Not
mention stacks of books. All of which wonder why I'm
ignoring them these
With this new game the kids grow up and become adults. When they do they can move out. I've seen it twice. Once was when a single mom's son moved out. She came running after him and he never looked back. I thought it was poignant. The second time was when there were aging parents and the daughter moved out. They both ran after her and I burst into tears. To understand this you hafta know that my single mom and I lived with her parents.
Ya know. Ya try to have a little fun. And there your life is. Waiting for ya.
There's also this funny notion of addiction. Like eating for comfort. Food is comforting. I was comforted by the wonderful food at Da Flora the other night. So? I'm still looking for the food that takes away my existential despair. It's not been my experience that food makes me less aware of the things troubling my heart. But a good dinner can be comforting. And if any one wants to tell that because I have a genetic proclivity for being fat I should never eat for comfort they should be ready to argue. For the record I don't think Siona would say that. I'm just thinking about it because I keep seeing these pop psychology shows in which people confess that they use food for comfort. I always want to say two things. If eating a cookie makes you feel better, eat a cookie. Just don't image that twenty cookies will make the pain go away. Ultimately you have to do the inner work.
Dammit.
Heh.
Michael and Maria wondered if I could blog from the game. Not the from game so much but there is a way to make a blog for your Sims. I haven't even gone there yet. In the first game I made myself a Sims right away. I'm too bewildered by the whole game right now. I haven't even thought about it. Oh. But. Maybe someday. Soon.
(Meanwhile, my new epigraph is from Michael. I love his word of the day sentences. But this one is just the coolest)(Oh yeah and Maria mentioned my wrists. Last night I could quite feel my hand. Eek.)
And (As Trainwreck mentioned.) Some of the Sims can do yoga. What's really fun that you can get them doing yoga and then other Sims will join them. It's just the cutest. Am I doing my own yoga? Um. Not so much just now. But I will. As soon as I raise these darn kids.)
Yoga. Which brings me to Jenny's comment.
Oh
but. I am fat. Very fat. I know the word is used
as an expletive. I've been called fat all my life. And
it has hurt. But it wasn't the word that hurt me. It
was the hatred of the people using it. The word is a
simple descriptive word. I'm also tall. I have brown
hair. I have
Heh.
There's more to say but, like I said. I have kids to raise. I'm just a bit miffed that Dru has a man who brings her food and water when she plays. Picture me pouting. This is usually when I wonder if I will ever grow up and Mike stops my and says I never will.
Sigh. The Sims is called a God game. I'm not so good at being God so far. Things have not gone as well as they might for the first few families.
Perhaps the most developed part of my book is about the time I was in India. Although when I say developed I am thinking about what my MFA fellows thought about writing. I like other parts of the book better. The India section is extremely descriptive. I tend to like sparity in writing. I like it all but that was the struggle for me in the program.
My own relationship with God, or spirit, or Goddess, or what ever we're calling it this week, is all through the book. My never ending effort to understand.
I like that section. I like it because of the sparity in the writing and because it begins my confused patriarchal need for intervention from a higher power. A god who knows how to play the game better than I do, as it were. Happy Indigenous People's day.
I think it's interesting that, when I played the first Sims I liked making single people who raised their own food and had pets for company. In this new game it's all about families. Because these Sims are going to grow up and die. So you need other Sims to keep the game running. AKA their kids. Plus you need other Sims for friends and lovers. The hours of play ... it makes me dizzy.
I saw a section of Shall We Dance in which the Susan Sarandon character says that being married is important because you need someone to witness your life. I thought that was an interesting and romantic idea. On the other hand it seems like your friends and your community witness your life. I have some bad attitude about the movie because I so loved the first movie and I don't think anyone is mentioning it in the promotion of this new version. I also wonder about the Motorcycle Diaries. Being so in love with Che, as I am, I'll either love it or hate it.
But anyway.
I've been thinking about the big family thing as a result of all the game playing with families. (I could write a game strategy book at this point.) When I was young I used to spend hours drawing my big family. I'd draw the kids and tell myself the story of how their lives were. When I was fourteen we moved from Pittsburgh PA to Maryland. I often wonder if we had not moved if my life would have been about marrying my high school crush and having lots of kids. I think I would have liked that. But there would have been things I wouldn't have been able to do.
There are lots of kinds of family.
While I was in my Sims coma I missed Susan's birthday. And Lynn's. I just ... I dunno. I blame the game. Like virtually everyone I know, I'm voting for Kerry. And probably for exactly the same reasons. To enumerate these reasons, to repeat yet another time the fundamental litany of liberal principles that need to be reclaimed and revitalized, seems to be redundant and unnecessary. Our culture has become politicized to a degree that verges upon hysteria. And since I live in New Jersey, a state in which an "honest politician" is someone who hasn't yet been arrested, I have come to have modest, that's to say realistic expectations about public life. - Joyce Carol Oates I'm always saying that I don't mind being my age. And I don't. Even when I was a kid I wanted to be older. But there is one thing about the last four years. I can't get away with anything. In my wild youth I hammered my body again and again and it always rebounded. Not any more. This last week of sitting in front of the computer, erratic eating and sleeping, (because yes I did get up in the middle of the night because I had a kooky idea I wanted to try in the game) (oh and I played for hours after my diner with Val) has not been good for my body. I can feel the need to stretch and move.
On Sunday I stopped playing long enough to cook up things that were on the verge. I made this soup/stew kinda thing with delacata squash and chicken in miso broth. It was odd but it did taste good. I like those things you create when you're trying to use things up. I cooked some beets (which I am eating right now, having tossed them in balsamic) and some apple pear sauce.
Because I don't drive I used to do a lot of walking. I still do some. And restaurant work is physical. In my late forties I was going to school and became more sedentary and I really notice the ill effects. Today I'm doing laundry, which means going up and down steps and being out side. With every trip up and down I feel better. And I will do some yoga.
I've never been body person. I've noticed how some people want to move. I'm not one of them. I can sit and talk, or read, or watch movies (or play with my virtual dolls) for hours. It's always been this way. But I am a sensualist. I like to feel good. So when things get to far gone I notice.
Kristina sent a link to this wonderful news. Writers are so smart. Mostly. The other day Ari and I had an interesting talk about systems and the individual. I think there's a surge of blame the individual, or admire the individual, and ignore the system in which that individual exists these days. Put a bunch of people on an island and don't ask them to work together, see which one of them WINS survival. Put a bunch of people in a board room and see what they will do to be the ONE. But it's more subtle than all that.
We began by talking about a young women who had stomach bypass surgery and was eating lots of chips. The woman had this recalcitrant attitude. She was going to eat what she wanted. Before the surgery, she could have eaten the chips and had enough room for, oh I don't know, maybe an apple. Although I doubt she ate many apples. Now she has less of a chance to get the nutrition she needs from what she eats. That's what the surgery does. Makes less stomach to digest food. So eating chips alone is a sure fire way to become unhealthy. Her eating habits were and still are crap. But she's "healthier" because she's losing weight.
Picture my eye roll.
She lost a lot of weight in a few months. And we know that's not good. It's hard on your muscles. Muscles like your heart. I keep waiting for someone to study the negative impacts of this surgery. And (thankfuckinggawd) someone has.
In the years to come I believe we will see more and more ill effects from the surgery. This surgery that is being given to teenagers for free.
I'm not going to debate whether this kid is too fat. But I wonder if his blood pressure isn't elevated because of the hostility with which he is no doubt familiar. And does anyone else think that mentioning his heart rate and whether or not he can fit into a seat on a roller coaster in the same sentence is loopy? Someone once said, "when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail."
Should he exercise? Yes. Aren't there really big guys on football teams? He may not be up to full speed. Maybe he could just be on a walking team. Or something. But he's going to get a surgery that may damage his nerves and their ability to relay information to and from the brain and spinal cord.
So. My first thoughts are about the medical community and the big money surgeries. One free one. How many paid? The general climate of fat hatred in which people have their children taken away, are refused transportation, and lose jobs (these last three links via BFB). But lets go back to the girl eatin the chips. Do I think she's bad for eating chips after spending all that money to have her stomach mutilated? Frankly, I'm just too busy being pissed off at the system to think about it.
I eat chips. And I eat apples.
I think people should take responsibility for what happens in their lives. I do. But I think that responsibility has to be understood in context. In other words, the girl should eat fewer chips and an apple. I'm still more pissed off at the world in which she felt she needed to be thin to be lovable and valuable.
Ari's point to me was that being pissed off doesn't do much. And she's right. And yet, I want that part of the conversation to be had. We are a culture of SELF improvement. And I like that. But can we also improve the culture? The diet industry is a 40 billion dollar industry. Ya know what I'm sayin? I was reading the other evening. And my head began to whirrrrr. All these ideas for blog posts began to spin. When I woke up they were gone. I guess I should have gotten up and written them. But I haven't been sleeping well and I was trying to get myself back into a rhythm. It didn't work. I lay there thinking. Not writing. All that chatter poured onto the pillow.
There's this overwhelming sadness pushing down on me. It's not depression. It's just grief. I don't want to live in the litany of what didn't go well. I either want to be here now or be thinking and moving forward. And I'm not.
It would be fair to say that I didn't get as much fostering/parenting (or something) as one might want. Absent father. Working mother. But that all seems like it goes in the things to accept column. Which isn't to say that having a moment or two of woe is me is a bad thing. But a year or two might be excessive.
I've had jobs since I was eleven. I ironed for the next door neighbor, babysat, worked in a local drug store. Mostly I've worked in restaurants and tried to do the work I loved (music) on the side. Although, I did also love cooking.
The work I want doesn't seem so impossible. When I was having that reading and thinking evening I thought about wanting to be a teacher in a small college. My desire for an MA is really desire for more learning and a life in a scholarly community. But where?
Blogging is my scholarly community. And I haven't been reading around, for which I can only apologize and beg forgiveness. And try to explain that there is a part of me that needs to know that if I don't work it won't all fall apart. You know what I mean? I keep wondering how long it will take till no one stops by anymore. Not that I'm trying to create that scenario by not posting. I do try to think of something to write. The blog has been my life raft. Writing the blog has been like my job. In the best sense. Work that I love. Writing and thinking and communicating. If I lose that I can't imagine what I'll do.
It's not depression. It sadness. And if I begin to write the laundry list of reasons why I will never stop typing. I could call a friend and pour it out. But, frankly, I'm tired of the listing. It feels like the ball gets thrown back to me. As it always does for all of us.
What am I going to...
do? There are ways in which I feel like I should watch the new (cough) reality show so that I can deconstruct it. Frankly, I don't have the emotional stamina. Having seen the commercial for the show is enough for a certain amount of deconstruction. It is also enough for me to know I don't want to endure the show. And it would be enduring.
In the commercial the voice over says, "You won't believe how much they lose in the first week." Anyone who has ever been on a diet will believe it. The first week of any diet is always the week in which the most weight is lost. And rapid weight loss is terrible for your health.
On the one hand, this show isn't worse than any other (cough) reality show. All of these shows are about humiliation. Eating bugs. Competing for the love of someone, or a job. Having your restaurant literally combust. It's all about humiliation. It could be argued that humiliating fat people is different because it relies on stereotypes. And reinforcing stereotypes adds to the hostile environment in which fat people live. And that is not good for their health. Not good at all. But there are ways in which all of these shows rely on stereotypes.
Watching fat people tell their weight loss stories has been done on talk shows for as long as there have been talk shows. Talk shows go in search of the extreme. Find the biggest person who has done the most dramatic thing to lose weight and valorize them. This isn't new. It is grotesque. But it isn't new.
Part of me thinks that reality shows are the carnivalesque, a bawdy antidote to the grind of work that is too hard doesn't pay enough. In other ways I think they reinforce the worst parts of how we see ourselves. Darwin would be sputtering. Survival of the what?
If you understand weight loss (and really, who does?) you know that different people lose weight at different rates for reasons they cannot control. Genetics. Body chemistry. Gender. If the show tracks the people for over a month every woman on the show will have one week in which they either gain weight or at least don't lose much. Of course, dieting does mess with a woman's cycle. So. That's a health issue we might want to consider.
I have a very fat friend who has been losing weight for about a year. She's been losing in very small amounts. I don't really know the numbers but a pound a week might be more than what she's losing. She isn't focused on losing. She's been swimming and doing yoga and eating good food. If she continues to lose she might be thin in a couple of years. I don't have issues with her weight loss. She is, for the most part, fat positive. She isn't trying to lose weight. She's trying to move more. And her eating habits are only changing relative to trying to change a habit of eating on the run. I don't think there's anything wrong with trying to eat better, food in a more conscious manner. I don't think there's anything wrong with moving more. She already has a great relationship, work that she loves and in which she is held in high esteem. She isn't trying to lose weight to find love and have a happy life. Her life is good. From my own experience I can say that the thinnest I ever get is not that thin. Some bodies are just bigger. So she may never be thin but that isn't her intention. And she will never be on one of these shows. She's too balanced.
If I wanted to be a professional social critic I should muster the stamina to watch the show. I was thinking about how talking out loud about my personal process may be a liability to my professional social critic standing. If someone comes here from the yoga articles expecting a blissed out yoga journal they may be disappointed. We live in a culture of improvement as evidence of evolution. A culture in which sadness is something to over come. A culture in which talking out loud about the difficult nature of being a human means you are solipsistic and need to get your act together. Or take a pill.
Well. I'm not a professional. Thankfully. I am fully human. I have my successes and my failures. I am a middle aged woman who left a successful career in search of more, living in a country on the verge of an election that will either mean more horror, or more mediocrity, an election in which many of the people may stay home to watch fat people (people who look like me) humiliated instead of going to the polls. A bit of ennui seems appropriate. Full blown misery seems appropriate.
I've read critique of the show in which the focus is about making fat people a joke. Again. Not a new thing. For me it's much worse. It's a show that uses an unsafe health practice (rapid weight loss) to reify a stereotype. A reification that will, no doubt enable scape goating and add to the get your act together, just do it, get with program, reductionism of the way we think about ourselves and our lives. In the course of the morning I heard a poll on the radio putting Bush ahead and a poll on the television putting Kerry ahead. It's a nail biter.
As I type I am listening to testimony from the hotel workers who are on strike in SF.
I would like to write a meliorative post. I really would. All I can say is I'm workin on it. My neighborhood seemed to be full of ethics tests the other day. I was walking to the new Trader Joe's. I stopped to put some mail in the mail box and saw a pair of expensive sunglasses. It looked like maybe someone put them there for a second while they were dropping off some mail and then spaced out and walked off. I looked to see if one of the post office guys was around. I looked to see if there were anyone near by. I put the glasses on. They were prescription. I looked around again to see if I could figure out who left them and then I put them on top of the box in hopes that the person would retrace their steps and went on to the store.
I stopped at Walgreens. On the way out I stopped to rearrange the stuff in my bags. In one of the newspaper boxes I noticed what appeared to be a large bag of smaller bags of marijuana. I could have been wrong. It's been awhile. I looked for the security guard in the little mall or the manager of the Walgreens. I looked around for a cop. I'm not sure why. I think I just wanted someone to confirm that it was pot. There was a day when I could have sold it all in about a half an hour and solved some of my money problems. That day is gone and selling something that you aren't really sure about is at least as dubious as selling it at all.
When I got to the corner I looked back and thought I saw someone looking at it. I may have been wrong. As I passed the mailbox a young man, passing at the same time, noticed the glasses and grabbed them with what did not seem like much of a thought. He'll find out that they are prescription and to them to the curb, far away from the place where the person who lost them might look. I wanted to believe that the person would retrace their steps and find the glasses.
Maybe there was a camera watching to see how people would react to these mysterious finds. Maybe there were more things planted around. That's what I wanted to think. I wanted to think it was a big project and not just random and meaningless moments in which I worried about things that need not have been thought about at all.
In the effort to navigate this time of change I am thinking a lot about who I am and what I need to be to get to the next place. And that includes what I'm doing here. I like having a blog. I like reading blogs. This has just been a bad month. I have been in retreat.
K posed a provocative contemplation the other day. Is this a medium that fosters friendship? I think so. I have come to hold many on my blog roll as dear friends. Very dear. And like all friendships these relationships require attention to thrive. I have been less than attentive, in all my relationships if the truth be told.
When I came back from the store I was thinking about how the ethics tests would make a great blog post. It took me a couple of days to write it. Is there a tension between blog writing in terms of mass communication and intimate communication? Oh yeah. If I were writing e-mails to individuals the writing would be different and in many ways easier. I would know my audience. On the blog I am aware that people who I don't know read and people who don't know me get an impression of me from what I write. So maybe this should only be a place where I write distinct essays and never mention how I feel. Less risky I suppose.
How does this medium foster friendships? Jeez. I'm really not sure. I only know what I feel. I know that when I read people taking the great risk to write their lives out loud in public, I am always moved. I like reading distinct essays. I like writing them. But what a revolution it would be if we all just told the truth and didn't try to be shiny happy people full of smart things to say.
There are times when my emotions don't require that much attention. Even if they aren't good they aren't overwhelming. And I may be through the bad month. Or not. Today the sun is shining and I'm going for another walk. So there may be more funny things planted in the neighborhood to write about. Or not.
I don't want to stop blogging. I don't want to stop reading blogs. So. That's the first noble truth for this moment. We'll see what comes next. I sort of copied George. Just a little bit. I just gotta say, if you do web design, you have ALL my respect. I never get it just the way I want it. But. I like doin it.
The mangos in my mango, blueberry, cranberry muffins are starting to mold. Dang. I shoulda kept em in the fringe. 60 minutes did half the show about the reopened investigation of the Emmett Till case. I was startled by the opening line, which suggested that not many would know who Emmet Till was. I don't know why I should be surprised. Do schools teach things or prepare kids for tests? I don't really know. I fear the worst.
I often watch 60 minutes and then American Dreams. And that's it. I sometimes like the Law and Order on Sunday nights. It's the only one I do like and that's because I like Vincent and that's because he was Abbie. But the show is a repeated formula that drives me crazy if I watch it two weeks in a row. I was working on the design, preoccupied and only half watching. Then came Crossing Jordan. I've seen it a few times and am never really engaged. This episode was about a black man murdered in the south and the reopening of the case. What a coincidence! So the show ends with man who murdered him apologizing to the wife and son and everyone walks away feeling like it's all good.
What?
This is the gee some really bad things happened but there's nothing that can be done because it's all in the past so lets just move on quickly way of dealing with our miserable history. I'm not feelin it. It was TV. It's just crazy to expect more.
In some ways, at some times, an apology is all we have to offer one another. Maybe it was because this show aired right after watching the 60 minutes. The woman who Emmet whistled at is still alive. There's something about that. I don't support the death penalty but I think she should be in jail. Or something. The 60 minute guy tried to talk to her and she wouldn't talk. So it doesn't seem like she's feeling the need to apologize. I guess we may know more if they reopen the case.
Truth and reconciliation might begin with an apology. But that is only the first small step It's a cold grey morning. It rained all night. There was thunder. I rarely hear thunder in SF. In Colorado there were afternoon thunderstorms that would roll over the mountains and cross the plain in a rush, all drama and flash. You could wait it out. When I moved to NYC it took me a year to accept that the rain wasn't going to pass quickly. After a few times getting soaked I bought the first of many subway umbrellas.
I like the sound of rain. I like the feel of grey. The biggest issue in the election is the war in Iraq. No. Wait. The biggest issue is the war on terrorism in general. No. It's the Supreme Court and the right to chose. No. No. It's the economy.
Florida is the state to watch. No. Ohio. There's a guy in Pennsylvania who is worried that there will be violence on election day.
Oh lord.
This is all so tense and loopy. Every poll says something different. Every news cast has a different focus. It's almost amusing. Except for the fact that it's so scary. And there's as much talk about election monitoring as there is about issues. Maybe the best thing is that voter turn out is supposed to be higher.
This is what Democracy looks like. Pretty scary. For six years I worked for these really horrible men. They had formed a company and were opening restaurants. One of them was so nasty and abusive. I still have dreams about him. Last night I was dreaming about all of them. I dream about them often. It's never good.
My job search is troubled by a few things, not the least of which is that I live in an area where the dot com bubble burst leaving a mess of employees and not too many jobs. And then there's my beautiful resume full of cooking and kitchen management and I'm applying to teach. My curriculum vitae is ... uh ... well...odd.
I also apply for office management jobs with a cover letter that tries to point out that managing a restaurant is so crazy and I might be able to handle an office. Not in those words, obviously. I'm reticent when applying for editing and writing jobs because I can't type and I can't spell. Not well. So.
And I'm old. I don't know if my age matters but it might. I'm not sure. I'm not sure if being fat matters. Although clearly there is job discrimination. I haven't gotten to the interviews so I'm not sure how anyone would know about my age, or my weight.
About once a month a job comes up that I actually might want and think I can do. And I apply for things for which I know I'm not qualified. It's all very wearing. Days go by when I just cannot bring myself to look. And then there are the days when ten minutes of looking puts me into the fetal position.
Our mayor, who I disdain, joined the picket line yesterday. You might imagine that I would dig that. And there are ways in which it's cool. But. You hafta have watched him in the past. It just seems like an attention grab. Still. I like the way it will play. He's a pro business guy and this was bold.
People just want to work. And have some dignity. I would like to find a way to make a living with my writing but I have to write and submit writing and get an agent and yadda yadda. This hasn't been a good month for any of that. I am feeling better so ...
I love working. I always have. I want to work. But my dream reminded me of how hard it is to work for abusive people. I was so tired and angry all the time.
Remember when I was going to be a rock-n-roll star?
Sigh.
I keep thinking about this song. Shouldn't I have all of this and ... Marie, in my comments, says to turn off the news. Good advise. But at times like this I am addicted. I get most of my news from lefty radio. I listen to NPR on the weekends. Awhile ago my cable reorganized and put MSNBC, CNBC, CNN and Fox all in a little cluster. From time to time I troll through all four. BBC is good. Foreign news sources in general.
So I had MSNBC on for the first time in a while. And I hear the news. And the frenzy ramps up.
And then I get an e-mail that another piece of writing was rejected.
Jeez.
The other night I stood on my roof and watched the moon turn red. I marveled and felt some fear. Some sense of the largeness of it all.
I don't feel terrible about the rejection. When I first read them I have a measured response. Often times I react later. But the next four days feel big. I am making every effort to remain ... oh, I dunno. Calm?
And, just for the moment, the televsion is not on. When I was a kid Mom took me trick or treating on our block. There was an older woman who made popcorn balls. I remember not liking them as much as the trash candy I got, which just makes me want to give myself a pinch. We always sat and talked with her. There was an older man who never had candy but gave each kid a stack of pennies.
As an adult I once went to a party in a Miss Piggy costume. I had a big plastic mask which include a wig. Quite suffocating. A guy at the party was quite direct when he made rude comments about my weight. He was six shades of fucked up. Still. It took some of the fun out of the whole evening.
Halloween feels like a loss of innocence to me. Kids can't eat homemade anything unless made by a trusted friend. Our neighbor was a casual acquaintance. I doubt my mom would even let me go out these days.
I live in a town where the party will be big. But I won't be there. I like the Day of the Dead stuff. I could hang out with the witches. I will no doubt be at home. Not forlorn. Just not up to a crowd.
Treats are good. I hope everyone gets lots of treats. Despite the fact that I am lock jawed with fear about Tuesday, I am encouraged by how wound up the country seems to be. It's really an on the one hand on the other hand kind of thing. We are polarized and cranky but we are also talking out loud and voting. Voting is good.
Book TV is all political books this weekend and they are trying to give both sides equal time. There was this kind of interesting discussion between two men who have written books about Bush from a psychological perspective. I say almost because I don't really have that much interest in why he is who he is. I just want him to go away. Still. It was worth ten or twenty minutes of my time. I listened to a debate at the Oxford Union featuring Richard Dreyfess, of all people. This American Life did a show on undecided voters. It was all quite a bit better than the stuff I was complaining about the other day.
I finished the book on Arendt, although I didn't get a lot of it. It is one of those books that made me aware I have so much more to read. The last bit from Kristeva struck me as timely.
The rapture of thinking. The realm between promise and forgiveness. Yeah. I just sat with the book in my hand for a long time after I read that. Wondering.
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